


us traitors never win

by LeaOotori



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Enemy Lovers, Falling In Love, Forbidden Love, Implied Sexual Content, Love/Hate, M/M, Revenge, inner conflict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 05:08:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16422995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeaOotori/pseuds/LeaOotori
Summary: The first time had been a mistake.The second time was not a mistake, but a sin.The third, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, every time after that had become a wicked habit.orDespite his best intentions, Kurapika had a terrible tendency to end up in bed with his sworn enemy.





	us traitors never win

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This is my first fanfic for Hunter x Hunter and thus my first fanfic for Kurapika and Chrollo... I've see both the original anime and the reboot, but I haven't been able to get to the manga yet, unfortunately. I'm not sure if I've been able to accurately portray the characters in this fic, but hopefully even if I didn't it's at least a little enjoyable. 
> 
> This is set after Kurapika has sealed Chrollo's nen, but I'm not exactly sure where it fits into the HxH timeline... it's probably a little AU, anyways. THIS IS UNBETAED!!!
> 
> Please enjoy!

[Background Music: "Lips on You" by Maroon 5](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O9k_G6vZ-4s)

* * *

 

 

**The first time had been a mistake.** It really was; or at least, that’s what Kurapika always tried to tell himself. His coworkers had been insolent and obstinate, forcing him to drink. “It’s a holiday,” one of them had said, urging him on. “It’ll be fine, just go ahead and down a little.”

 

Kurapika shouldn’t have listened. He shouldn't have thought about the lingering soreness in his limbs from travel or his stressed mind or his restlessness for the past few months or even the uneasiness that came with a party like this. He shouldn’t have tried to drink any of those problems away. _It’s just a little drink,_ he had told himself. _What can a little glass of liquid do to me?_ Apparently, the young man had greatly overestimated his own tolerance. It had only taken a few glasses and a matter of time before his vision began to blur and his head began to spin. _This isn’t good,_ he had told himself. _I need to get out of here._

 

That was no great challenge-- everyone else was partying away. Nobody even noticed him leave. It wasn’t until he reached the dim, claustrophobic halls full of expensive paintings and patterned carpet floors that he began to feel lost and nauseous. _Just a little further,_ he told himself, but very soon he had no idea where he was going. _What was in that drink?_ That one coherent thought danced circles through his head, no apparent answer making an appearance. _Am I even going the right direction?_  

 

Suddenly, there had been a voice, almost as if on cue. It was a savior; his very own hero. Helping hands wrapped around his shoulder and side, supporting his weight. “What’s your room?” the voice was soothing, monotone, lilting, stabilizing. Kurapika tried to look up, but his vision spun again so he stubbornly pinned his gaze to the floor, rattling off the numbers of his room nonsensically as he fumbled in his pocket to take his keys out.

 

There were warning bells going off in his head. _Unsafe unsafe unsafe--_ they chanted, a never ending chorus of fear. But he didn’t fight as the stranger led him down the hall in the opposite direction, unlocking the door with a smoothness that the blonde envied. He felt himself being set down on the bed and he clutched his forehead. “I’m sorry,” Kurapika managed. “I apparently don’t do well with alcohol.”

 

A pair of fingers hooked under his chin, pulling his face upwards. “I would say it has more to do with how stressed you are.” It took him a moment, but the Kurta could identify the face of the man in front of him in his sleep. _Chrollo._ Before he could even react, the older man tucked his fingers back into his pocket, cocking his head in that curious way of his. “Better get some sleep.” His face was duly expressionless, and that made Kurapika’s blood boil even more.

 

“What do you want?” he hissed, shoulders hunched into a silent battle stance, even though he knew deep inside that if the man in front of him wanted to fight, in this state he would have no chance.

 

Kurapika watched as a ghost of a smile appeared on Chrollo’s lips. With his flat, unfeeling eyes, his countenance sent a shiver over the younger man’s body. “Nothing at all,” he said simply, but he still stood there, eyes boring into the Kurta with a quiet resolve. It was unsettling.

 

Even if it was unwillingly, Kurapika relaxed somewhat. If Chrollo wanted to hurt him, it wasn’t going to be now. It wasn’t his style to pull such a mundane, cowardly attack. Instead of continuing to question him, the blonde just watched as Chrollo sat on the bed next to him, looking awfully relaxed for being in the enemy’s hotel room.

 

“What are you doing?” Kurapika asked, only to get a dispassionate gaze in return.

 

“Sitting,” was the response.

 

The Kurta didn’t question it any further, for whatever reason. He just watched as his greatest enemy watched him back, their gazes clashing and growing somewhat more intense as the seconds wore on. There was something about Chrollo sitting there, in the dim lighting of the bedroom, in that shiny black suit that set something foreign off in Kurapika. Something primal.

 

His gaze darted back up the the dark-haired man’s face to find that the other’s eyes had gotten even darker, if that was possible, as his face grew more shadowed and menacing than before.

 

Kurapika suddenly became aware of the space between then as it got ever smaller. “What do you _really_ want?” he asked, but the words came out as a pathetic, harsh whisper.

 

Leaning even closer, the Troupe leader looked straight at the younger man’s face, glowing red eyes reflecting off of his pale skin. His breath was warm despite his cold demeanor, hitting the blonde’s face softly in a way that made him shiver involuntarily. _Get away from me,_ Rational Kurapika screamed in the back of his mind, but something kept him rooted to the spot.

 

“I don’t know,” Chrollo answered before closing the gap.

 

The rest of the night had been a blur. Somehow, the Kurta had ended up in the smirking murderer’s lap, breaths mingling and heat and alcohol clouding his mind. In the aftermath, Kurapika could not remember much but roaming hands and quiet curses and the bruising grip of strong, built hands.

 

_It’ll never happen again,_ the blonde  promised himself the next morning as he curled up on the floor. He didn’t want to touch the bed. _Sick, dirty, unholy_. Chrollo was the murderer of his people, and there he was, having spent his night with him. Kurapika didn’t get up that day until noon, and that was only to dry heave up everything in his stomach.

 

* * *

_you weren't thinking, and I was just drinking_

* * *

**The second time was not a mistake, but a sin.** He had caught Chrollo’s eye across the room, and there had been an unexplained energy that had seemed to pass between them. Kurapika had snatched his gaze away, unwilling to knowingly put himself in the same position he had last time. He skirted around the alcohol entirely, this time even leaving the party early, asking Melody to cover for him. “Are you alright?” she asked, eyes searching his face.

 

“Just a little tired,” he lied.

 

Melody pretended to believe him, choosing to trust him. “Alright,” she said. Kurapika was thankful she didn’t inquire further.

 

He tried to be discreet as he slipped back to his room, but evidently it wasn’t enough. Before Kurapika could close his door, Chrollo appeared out of seemingly nowhere, sliding his foot in to stop it. The blonde stared at the foot wedged in the door. If he had wanted to-- if he had really tried-- he would’ve been able to get the door closed. He would’ve been able to get the _criminal_ to leave him alone.

 

But Kurapika didn’t stop him. Some part of him caved as he let the door ease open again, the dead-eyed man staring at him on the other side of the doorway. “Playing a game now, are we?”

 

“This is a game to you?” The words came out angry, more of a statement than a question.

 

Chrollo cocked his head. “Is it not?”

 

There was a certain sort of anger that solidified in Kurapika’s throat. It something between a choked sob and a scream. _What’s happening to me?!_ He managed to swallow, trying to calm himself. “Leave.” His voice came out surprisingly even.

 

The older man did the exact opposite, stepping forward instead. He was so fluid in his movements, hands in his pockets as he let his heel hit the door behind him. It banged closed, the sound bouncing through his room, bouncing through Kurapika’s skull. _I’m not drunk this time,_ his inner voice told him. _I can make him leave if I really want to._ But that was the real question-- did he actually want Chrollo to leave?

 

Amused, the Troupe leader appeared to sense his indecision. “What’s the matter?” he asked, leaning closer. Somehow, even without touching him, the other man had set off some kind of itch in the blonde that made him want to cave.

 

“I hate you,” Kurapika managed to get out before he was on the bed, Chrollo on top of him, hands roaming his sides and burning memories of touches into his skin and tugging their at their ties and buttons. It made him feel tainted. The lips on his were harsh: nothing like the soft, chaste, lover’s kisses that he had encountered before. After all, they were not the kisses of a lover, but an enemy.

 

There was a moment of indecision where Kurapika wavered. His conscience wanted so badly to push the man off of him and hit him, but the raw, disgustingly animalistic side of him wanted nothing more than to let him have his way.

 

It was only a matter of time before he gave in.

 

* * *

_the ties were black, the lies were white_

_shades of grey in candlelight_

* * *

 

**If the first time had been a mistake and the second a sin, the third, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, and every time after that had become a wicked habit.**

 

Suddenly, it was no longer strange for the Kurta to catch the glance of the other man across the room. Sometimes, it was even after months after not seeing each other. Other times, Kurapika didn’t even know Chrollo was there until they had found themselves tangled in sheets in his room, pale hands stroking silky black hair amid the jangling noises of conjured chains, pausing to drag his nails through the other man’s skull and pull at his hair, trying to vent his anger.

 

It was a cloudy morning that Kurapika realized how much he had truly given in. The Troupe Leader had run into him in the city, and the blonde found it hard to believe it was a coincidence. Like clockwork, here they were again, the older man lying on his back as the blonde straddled him, fingers fumbling with buttons and cursing as they slipped through his fingers.

 

“And here I thought you’d gotten better at this,” Chrollo chuckled mirthlessly, still refusing to help him and instead watching with a seemingly vacant stare. It was only after having spent so much time practically hanging off of him that the Kurta could detect the lust in his eyes.

 

Kurapika finally got the buttons open, yanking the skirt aside with such force he was surprised it didn’t rip. The black-haired man smirked before flipping him onto his back, lips tracing a spot at the junction between the blonde’s jaw and neck, making him hiss. Lips traced their way up to lips before capturing them in an attempt at conquest, but the Kurta was not to be defeated. As Chrollo had pointed out time and time again, this was a game for him-- a game for _them--_ and Kurapika stubbornly refused to lose.

 

Their tongues collided with a surprising force, the younger man arching off of the bed to scrape his nails up Chrollo’s back, revelling in the soft groan it earned him. It felt like a payoff, like a small battle won.

 

“Kurapika.” The said man looked up at his name being whispered in his ear, feeling his pulse speed up at strange, almost-openness of the Troupe leader’s expression. They were so close to each other, and with the other’s forehead barely a hair from his own. Their eyes were so close that Kurapika could see a reflection of glowing red in the onyx eyes hovering above him. “What do you want, Chrollo?”

 

A smirk danced its way onto the beautiful man’s lips. “You, obviously.”

 

“Shut up, bastard,” the blonde hissed at him, a sense of reality seeping back into his mind along with some kind of strange fuzzy feeling in his chest.

 

“Make me.”

 

Kurapika squinted. “Don’t order me around.”

 

“I like it when you’re rebellious.”

 

“Don’t use your reverse psychology on me.”

 

Chrollo cocked his head. “I’m telling the truth. For once.”

 

A warbled laugh found its way out of the blonde’s mouth. “I wouldn’t believe you if you told me the sky was blue.”

 

“Pity,” the black-haired man purred, hand snaking up to trace patterns on the hips under him as he worked on pulling more clothes off. “But it’s alright. I always preferred red to blue, anyways.”

 

He looked right into Kurapika’s eyes as he said the words, sparking something akin to anger, but he squashed it down. _Not now,_ the blonde told himself. Thinking about his anger, his pain, his lust-- all of it brought to the Kurta was confusion and self-hate. He didn’t want that now, not when he had just been feeling like all the tension had been lifted up for the fifteen minutes he had been pinned under the gorgeous man in front of him.

 

“Do you have nothing to say that?” Chrollo asked, eyes sparkling. “You’re usually a lot more threatening.”

 

“You’re usually not this talkative,” the blonde replied, pulling his knee up and intentionally letting it grind against the older man, earning a quiet groan in the process. “Can you get on with it?”

 

“Shh,” the Troupe Leader scolded, tucking a golden lock of hair behind Kurapika’s ear, making him jump with a sudden intake of breath at the gentleness of the action. It was usually rough, sensual, _carnal_ , but this had just been gentle-- almost _romantic._ Before he could question it further, a thumb was pushed in front of his lips as Chrollo leaned in again.

 

The blonde expected a kiss, but instead the lips stopped a hair from his. “Sometimes I just want to look at you,” he said. “Just look. Nothing else. You’re so beautiful, so enchanting--” Kurapika couldn’t take anymore. He could feel the panic seizing his chest as he lurched himself up to seal the kiss, to stop Chrollo from saying any more. The kiss was not passionate and heated. It was soft, slow, so chaste and sweet that the blonde no longer knew the man above him. They were so close, the sexual tension no longer thick.

 

Chrollo pulled away for a breath, the heat between their mouths still bouncing off of each other's faces. There was a still moment where they just looked at each other, clueless and knowing all the same.

 

Kurapika definitely knew. He watched the man above him with harsh breaths coming from his mouth, some color and feeling finally seeping into his dead eyes and pale skin. Dark hair tousled and out of its perfect slicked back style, tattoo out on full show. Sparkling blue earrings glinting in the dim light of the room, bare and built chest glistening with sweat. He was beautiful; he was a criminal. He was a dream; he was a nightmare. He was still so close to that the Kurta could hear the sirens in the beat of his heart. But yet he was so far that they could never truly meet; not in this life and not in any other. The romantic words from earlier echoed across his ears like a song, a chant, a demonic anthem to the young man’s downfall, to his ruin.

 

In that moment, Kurapika knew that he couldn’t let this happen again, never again.

 

* * *

_X marks the spot where we fell apart_

_it hit you like a shotgun to the heart_

* * *

 

 

Quiet whispered curses, scratches and bites; those were all routine. Kurapika was used to them. They were normal, expected, _wanted._ But the new appearances of sweeter, long kisses, gentle caresses, and half-smiles had him off-balance.

 

It made the idea of this… _relationship_ feel even more wrong than it already felt. That day, the Kurta ended up against a wall with Chrollo’s hands under his shirt. They were too nice, too gentle. There weren’t any pinches or hickies today. Just soft, gentle, smooth touches and soothing strokes. It was unsettling. “I’m not going to break,” Kurapika snapped, something inside him wavering. He felt sick.

 

“I know,” the other man surprised but he didn’t change his ministrations, being even more sickeningly sweet if that was possible.

 

“What’s gotten into you?”

 

“I don’t know.” Onyx eyes flitted over his face, resting on his own ruby ones.

 

Kurapika didn’t believe him. “I trust you less and less with each passing day.”

 

“I’m not surprised.” There was no characteristic smirk now, only a thoughtful look as his gaze shifted to something off in the distance.

 

“Aren’t you invested in winning?” the blonde asked. His voice came out harsh.

 

“Winning?” A flicker of recognition graced Chrollo’s face. “Ah, this is a game, isn’t it?”

 

“It is,” Kurapika agreed, pushing the idea. “And you seem to have given up.” The other man didn’t say anything at all. He just looked at the Kurta boy, gaze somehow calculating but not intimidating. _Just be a terrible person,_ his inner voice screamed. _Please just act like you used to._

 

Instead, the Troupe leader let out a breath. “Is this a game?”

 

The words made the blonde’s blood freeze. “What?”

 

“Maybe this isn’t a game,” the older man continued, sounding almost like he was rambling to himself now. “If it is, then it’s the most dangerous game I’ve ever played.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Kurapika’s voice came out as a broken whisper, and he hated it. “Make some sense, goddamnit.”

 

“Nothing about this makes sense.” Chrollo shook his head, seemingly deciding against saying something. “I never stood a chance, did I?”

 

That was the last thing he said before their lips met. It was placid and tender, lips moving against each other with a care that made it impossible to ignore the underlying implication of. Kurapika wrapped a hand around the back of the other man’s neck, pulling him down a bit more and trying to ignore the rising panic muddling with the butterflies flitting around his stomach. _Just a little longer,_ he thought, letting himself go for just a second into the bliss of the fantasy that this relationship was normal, doable, _right._ Trying to forget that he was standing there, pinned up against a wall by the murderer of his people. That he found this _enjoyable._

 

The other man moved back to take a breath, but the blonde lingered a moment longer, grabbing onto his shirt and not letting him step away. When their lips finally separated, the Troupe leader had something akin to a smile on his face. It looked so wrong, yet Kurapika couldn’t help but savor it for the moment before it turned into an expression of shock.

 

It was all a blur. Chrollo looked down at his stomach balking at the blood dripping onto his hands. A sob caught the blonde’s throat as he twisted the knife viciously, making the other man’s face go cold with betrayal. _I’m sorry,_ the words bubbled up, but Kurapika knew that the Troupe leader did not deserve them in the least. He unsheathed the knife, dropping it as the blood splattered the ground. He met the murderer’s eyes, and with the initial shock passed, his face was now a blank slate.

 

“Why aren’t you fighting me?!” Kurapika asked, voice cracking painfully. “Stop just standing there!”

 

Chrollo smiled, blood smeared across his perfect white teeth as it dripped past his lips onto his painfully pale skin. “It seems like this hurts you more than it hurts me.”

 

“Use your nen,” the blonde begged, knowing that using it would still kill the Troupe leader. He just needed to say something, distract himself.  _Anything._  “Do something, you sick bastard!” Kurapika was no longer sure what he wanted, but watching Chrollo passively bleed out made him want to vomit. His hands were trembling, smearing blood against his clothes. Everything was red, red, red.

 

The older man didn’t respond and instead just looked at Kurapika’s eyes. Kurapika’s red eyes glowed bright and watery, casting light in the dark room. Chest shuddering, Chrollo let out a painful chuckle as the beautiful shade of scarlet branded itself across his eyes. “They say the most beautiful snakes are the most poisonous ones.”

 

* * *

_every man for himself_

* * *

 

Kurapika had covered up his steps perfectly. Nobody would ever know who was responsible for the unrecognizable body in the hotel room, and nobody would ever know what had happened to that man. He pulled his hood over his head as he walked into the street, tears mingling with the rain. The pain in his chest was almost unbearable. **It had been a mistake, a sin, and a habit, but this was the end.**

 

He should have felt victory, but he knew as well as anyone else that the traitors never win.

 

* * *

   
_that was the last time you ever saw me_

* * *

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed that! Please leave kudos and comment! Constructive criticism is appreciated, especially about the quality of the writing, any mistakes I might've made, and the characterization. I think Chrollo and Kurapika were both very out of character, but I'll work on that. :) 
> 
> The lyrics in the line breaks are from the song "Getaway Car" by Taylor Swift-- because of the production and stuff, I didn't find it sultry enough to set the mood for reading this fic, but the lyrics match it quite well in my opinion :D 
> 
> Anyways, tell me what you think guys!! <3 <3 
> 
> ~ Lea


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